


Lullaby

by Twobit_scribbles



Category: Magi: The Labyrinth of Magic, Sinbad no Bouken - Fandom
Genre: Fluff, M/M, ja'far's parents
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-25
Updated: 2015-12-25
Packaged: 2018-05-09 08:31:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,367
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5532650
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Twobit_scribbles/pseuds/Twobit_scribbles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gift fic For the wonderful nesakii/saisquei or tumblr, sorry this took so long! </p><p>Prompt: Ja’far’s mom used to sing lullabies to him in the short time he had with her. And maybe Rurumu sang to him too, if he had nightmares as a child. The headcanon in itself: Ja’far hums/sings when he’s really tired/emotionally exhausted (kind of like it comes from his subconscious?) and both Sinbad and the generals were surprised when they first heard him, bc he doesn’t seem like the singing type?</p><p>Or: A pleasant evening drinking turns into a grand debate over the subject of Ja'far's odd habit. </p><p>Possible SnB spoilers</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lullaby

**Author's Note:**

  * For [nesakii](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=nesakii).



> This was originally supposed to be the free day for sinja week, but I decided to post it separately. (posted this on my tumblr, twobit-anime-trash a few days ago btw)

Ja’far has few memories of the days before his initiation into the Organization. He has even fewer that aren’t tinged with pain.

It was unusual for a child like him to appear in the organization. Couples frowned upon in the Organization, practically outright condemned. Love was an obstacle, a stumbling block, a weakness. Love divided the loyalties of their assassins, made their first loyalty something other than the Organization.

The most foolish thing already maligned partners could do was to produce a child. Children were to be brought into the Organization, not born into it. In a country such as Partevia, founded on war mongering, there was no shortage of orphans. Creating a child demonstrated their willing disloyalty to the Organization, as they once more readily divided their loyalties. Such a betrayal had to be dealt with in a harsh, unforgiving manner. And so their child would be pushed to the extreme, trained faster, trained harder, trained better, to produce a cold blooded assassin all the sooner. And as punishment for the parent’s crimes the child they desired so much, would slaughter them. The younger the child the better.

Ja’far knows, on some level, that his parents must have wanted him, must have loved him. His mother could have gotten rid of the seed that took root in her easily with poisons she herself was immune to. His father could have abandoned his mother, denied her claim, and slipped back into anonymity. They could have left him as an infant to die from exposure. But for reasons never explained to him and beyond his own reasoning, both his parents had kept him and accepted their fates.

He hadn’t been particularly close to his parents, couldn’t have been because of the rigorous training that kept him away from home. He couldn’t even remember their faces anymore. But one memory in particular had stuck with him through the years, as clear as crystal. On some nights, while he was writhing in pain from the latest injury, or feverishly sweating out the latest dose of poison, he would swear that he felt a cool hand on his forehead, and heard a soft, feminine voice, singing.

-

“Did you know that Ja’far sings?”

That one innocent question sparked a grand debate. Seven of the Eight Generals had gathered for a night of food, drink, and merriment, when someone bought it up.

“Yeah, he’s not very good, is he?” Pisti said critically, before her face dissolved into a smile. “But I think it’s kind of cute. You would really expect something like that from a guy like him, ya know?”

“Are you kidding me?” Sharrkan exclaimed, slamming his cup down on the table in disbelief. “You were there that one time…that was the creepiest thing I’ve ever heard!”

“Perhaps it is a coping method,” Spartos suggested. “I do not think we should begrudge him for that.”

“Shows what you know, moron,” said Yamuraiha, talking over Spartos to address Sharrkan directly. “You wouldn’t know a sweet thing if it hit you over the head with one of those stupid swords you love so much!”

“What did you say, you stupid-”

“Ha!” Hinahoho laughed mightily, his booming voice silencing the others for a moment. “This ain’t anything new! You youngsters may not know it, but Ja’far’s been doing this for years!”

Drakon nodded. “Yes, it is true.”

“It sure is! This one time, back when the Sinbad’s company was new….”

-  
Hinahoho and Drakon knew of this odd habit of course. They remembered the days before Ja’far and paperwork were old friends. Back then; before he’d mastered the art of paper pushing, Ja’far and his paperwork were bitter rivals. Each new scroll was a new challenger, as he struggled through documents on complex trade codes, tedious tax codes, extensive inventories, expenses and income, and so much more.

Hinahoho remembered the nights he would accompany his wife to pry the boy away from his desk. Rurumu always said that growing boys needed their sleep, so whenever the work wasn’t critical, she’d _gently_ encourage Ja’far to get some rest. He’d first heard it on otherwise uneventful night, it as he approached the paper pusher’s offices. A slightly off-key and more than a little flat lilting melody, coming from the least likely source in the world. A bleary-eyed Vittel offered no explanation beyond a vacant shrug. He’d probably been on the receiving end of Ja’far’s creative threats too many times to ask at this point.

He’d wisely decided not to ask as well, and let Rurumu drag the boy of to bed. Vittel started putting his work away, yawning as he did so.

“He does that sometimes. Dunno why,” the former assassin said tiredly. “I dunno if he knows it, I wouldn’t bring it up. He gets embarrassed pretty easily, ya know?”  
That was advice Hinahoho could take, so he never did ask Ja’far why.

Drakon would hear too it sometimes during the occasional late night scramble to finalize trading routes, coming from the direction of the offices. I was almost haunting, but oddly cute. To know even someone like Ja’far had a soft spot was comforting.  
-

Masrur simply nodded.

-  
He too remembered day long past, although he hadn’t been around as long as his seniors.

It was during his first adventure with Sinbad and his subordinates through the deserts of the Dark Continent. Ja’far, still rough around the edges, had taken him under his wing in his own way. He’d shown him the ropes, and taught him about his new master, and shown him a surprising amount of patience for someone who was not afraid to beat some sense into said master.

During that trip, Ja’far usually volunteered to take the majority of the night shifts watching over the camp. He ‘d argued that he could see better in the darkness than most of his other teammates, and that he was used to going without much sleep. Mostly he’d gotten his way.

Masrur himself still had trouble sleeping during those nights. Reim and Maadar may have been miles and miles away, but the memories were still fresh. Some nights, when he’d gotten tired of tossing and turning, he’d go out to clear his head. Usually he’d find Ja’far tending the campfire, or pacing the edges of their encampment. Masrur would find a place, out of Ja’far’s way but not too far from him, and settle down.

He’d never be there for very long before something odd would happen. Ja’far wouldn’t look up from his patrol, but suddenly, he’d start softly singing. Masrur knew that Ja’far almost never sang during his patrols. Fanalis had sharp ears. But without fail, every night he couldn’t sleep, Ja’far just so happened to sing. It was the first lullaby he could ever remember hearing.

And suddenly, Masrur was would be waking up to a brusque voice saying, “Get up, we’ve got to get that lazy man out of bed and on the road. How he intends to be a king if he can’t get himself up before noon is beyond me.” And then Ja’far would stalk off to go and rouse their master.  
Masrur never told anyone about those nights. He respected Ja’far enough by that point to keep the man’s secrets. Besides, those memories were ones he wanted to cherish for himself.  
-

“I still say it’s creepy.” Sharrkan said, crossing his arms and glaring at the magician. “It’s just weird! This one time, me and Pisti and Spartos had to go to work in the office….”

-  
It was tax season again in Sindria.

After summons after summons after summons, Sharrkan and Pisti finally had to report for duty. They’d postponed it long enough, if they waited any longer, no one in Sindria would be able to find their bodies. Poor long-suffering Spartos, fresh off of his trade ship guarding duty, had also been dragged into the fray.

The entire office was in chaos. Hundreds of officials were bustling about, scrolls were spilling off of desks, and a palpable tension hung in the air.

And in the center of it all was Ja’far, hurriedly scratching his way through his scrolls. His hands were stained with ink, his keffiyeh askew, and the look on his face…Sharrkan and Pisti shuddered. Spartos politely refrained from pointing out that they shouldn’t have put their work off in the first place.

But all of that was nothing compared to what they heard when they drew closer. Lowly, almost under his breath, Ja’far was singing. The tune was calm, but the man singing it defiantly was not. The slow melody paired with his frantic scrawling and stormy expression made for a very uncanny picture. The three of them stopped dead in their tracks, although Spartos had the courtesy not to stare.

Finally, Ja’far took notice of them and jerked his head up, “There you are! I swear to Solomon, if I have to summon you two one more time I swear that neither of you will drink for an entire year! You know how important this is!”

-

“And he just kept chewing us out like it never even happened!” Sharrkan finished, gesturing for emphasis. “It was freaky!”

“Well I still say it’s sweet,” Yamuraiha huffed, “What would you know about sweet you stupid swordsman? Listen to this; back when Aladdin was here…”

-

The moon was high in the sky in Sindria. The whole island was probably asleep by now, but Aladdin just couldn’t settle down. Scenes of Balbadd just kept playing over and over in his mind. What could he have done differently? What should he have done? How could he have prevented the deaths of all those innocent citizens?

He couldn’t silence those thought on his own. Alibaba was burdened with too much grief of his own; he didn’t need Aladdin’s to top if off. Morginanna was a great, loyal friend, but she wasn’t very good with words sometimes.

And, well… Ja’far had always said never to hesitate if he needed help.

There was something comforting about the advisor, Aladdin thought, as he made his way towards the administrative offices. There were plenty of things about him that probably should have sent up some red flags. Aladdin could sense the wealth of magoi about him, not as much as someone like Sinbad, but enough that he could deal out plenty of damage with his household vessel. His hands and arms bore scars that spoke of a life of using his characteristic weapons. His eyes, though normally soft, could become sharp and eerily slit when his apparently infamous temper was triggered. And that was without mentioning unsubtle hint about his assassination skills.

But those scared hands chose to be gentle. He chose to use his sharp eyes to carefully examine scrolls for the benefit of Sindrian citizens. His temper, though fierce, was buried under layers of patience. And he chose to use his skill non-fatally in Balbadd, saving the lives of many innocent citizens. Not to mention the way the man had been spoiling him with good food, distracting him from the very problems that were plaguing him tonight.

Finally, Aladdin reached his destination. Taking a deep breath, he cracked open the door, calling Ja’far’s name softly.

-

Hours later, Yamuraiha, high on the success of her latest innovation, was seeking out her young apprentice when she passed by Ja’far’s door. And stopped. And stared.

In the dim candlelight, she could she the young magi, fast asleep. His small body was curled half on Ja’far’s bench, half on Ja’far’s lap. Ja’far, for his part, appeared to be hard at work. His eyes were on his desk, and his quill scratched swiftly across his scroll. But his other hand gently, slowly, stroked Aladdin’s hair.

And faintly, lowly, but clearly, Ja’far was singing. It was a soft, slow tune unmistakably a lullaby. And while the advisor was not much of a singer, his voice was low enough and clear enough, that the song sounded oddly comforting.

Yamuraiha lingered in the doorway, unable to tear herself away. She wasn’t sure how long she stood there before the sound of the song faded away.

“Well, we’d better get this one into bed,” Ja’far said suddenly, nearly scaring Yamuraiha out of her skin.

He cleaned his quill and capped his ink, before gathering the little magi in his arms and standing. “Whatever it was you wanted to tell him, it can wait until tomorrow, right Yamuraiha?” She couldn’t do anything but nod. Ja’far gave her a soft smile. “We should probably get some sleep as well. Busy day again tomorrow.”

-

“See, that was adorable!” Yamuraiha finished.

“So what, that doesn’t make my experiencing less traumatizing!” shot back Sharrkan.

And so, the argument continued on into the night.

-  
It was a rare occasion when things got really bad around the Administration Center. But this week it had. And Sinbad knew for a fact that Ja’far had hardly slept or eaten at all during that time.

But he would sleep tonight, if Sinbad had to drag him kicking and screaming.

By the time Sinbad got down to the office, the room was nearly deserted. One, single candle was still flickering, burned nearly down to the wick. The lone figure illuminated by its weak light was slumped over his desk, slowly filling out yet another scroll.

As he approached, he heard the familiar words of a Partevian lullaby, sung haltingly, slurred. Ah, so it really was that bad. Sinbad sighed deeply. How had he allowed it to go this far again?

He approached carefully but before he could reach the desk, Ja’far started, his slitted eyes zeroing in on Sinbad. It took a moment for recognition to dawn on him, then he slumped back down again.

Sinbad closed the distance between them, and swept Ja’far up into his arms. It was a testament to just how exhausted Ja’far was that he allowed it with nothing but a muted glare. Sinbad ignored it, leaning down to kiss his advisors forehead.

Slowly, careful not to jostle his subordinate, Sinbad made his way down the hallways towards his bedchambers. And as he walked he sang a Sindrian lullaby, softly and slowly, as Ja’far finally fell asleep in his arms.

**Author's Note:**

> In the anime, Ja’far’s Japanese voice actor has a lovely singing voice, but I’m going with the manga interpretation. According to Ohtaka (http://twobit-anime-trash.tumblr.com/post/128203808139/hayarashi-magi-volume-25-special-paper-magi) Ja’far isn’t very good at karaoke!
> 
> It’ finally finished! And I finally wrote something over 900 words! Please let me know what you think about it~


End file.
